


Stranger Than Fiction

by WhimsicalSesquipedalian



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, Meta, Stranger Than Fiction, and cas is that weird half-humany thing he does all the time, cas/dean, don't really know when this is set, just a bit of nonsense, just go with it, kind of, not really - Freeform, they're all in the bunker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-05 16:25:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6712417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimsicalSesquipedalian/pseuds/WhimsicalSesquipedalian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the tradition of Harold Crick, Dean Winchester wakes up one morning to find his life being narrated by an unknown voice. When this voice introduces a seemingly inevitable and (to Dean) positively horrifying plot twist, Dean, with the help of Cas and Sam, must hunt down the author and convince them to change the story before it's too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of nonsense I found myself pondering one lonely Sunday night.  
> Hope you enjoy.  
> Will try to update regularly, but should warn you I can be pretty slack.

_This is a story about a man named Dean Winchester, and his car. Dean Winchester was a man of simple tastes, and so was his car (or it would have been if it wasn’t an inanimate object). Women, alcohol and pie were three staples of Dean’s lifestyle. And all of them, though not always simultaneously, had been enjoyed at one point, in the back seat of his 1967 Chevy Impala._

_Each day, Dean Winchester began his morning by rolling out of bed with a grunt and stumbling bleary eyed into the bathroom, to deal with one of the less glamorous aspects of human nature. This was followed by a large, and extremely unhealthy breakfast, much to the dismay of his abnormally tall younger brother Sam; cleaning his teeth; and retiring to the couch to read a book on exorcism’s in the seventeenth century._

_Yet despite the seeming mundanity of Dean’s world, he had a life full of danger and disappointment. So much so that over the, close to, 34 years of his life, Dean had never truly felt safe. This was because Dean knew something that most people would never dare to believe in their wildest dreams; that monsters were real, and very dangerous. And Dean, whether fueled by an unwavering devotion to a long lost father, a misguided sense of duty and responsibility to people he had never before met or cared about, or his staggeringly low sense of self-worth and importance, viewed it as his job to (along with his brother Sam) hunt down these monsters and kill them._

_Within the mistrust and mayhem involved in hunting these supernatural beings, there was one constant, one thing that never faltered or failed Dean. His car. A 1967 black Chevy Impala, Dean’s car (or Baby as he referred to her), was the only thing in the entire world that had never let him down._

_With her smooth curves and sleek black lines, Baby was a creature of indescribable beauty and desire, and at this point in time, the only true love of Dean’s life. Her dependability was unwavering. Surviving through ghost possession, head-on collisions, apocalypses and the many other dangers of Dean’s lifestyle, Baby was Dean’s cornerstone, his north star._

_That is, she was. That all changed one particular Wednesday morning._

_This particular Wednesday started much like any other Wednesday for Dean Winchester. He got out of bed with an unenthused grunt and stumbled his way into the bathroom for a much needed rendezvous with his toilet. Having completed his private activities, Dean bumped and scuffed his way through the dark and cold hallways of the bunker and into the warm kitchen he shared with his brother._

_Opening the fridge, Dean…_

“The hell?”

Dean grunted and looked behind him, but the voice had already faded away. He turned back to the fridge, his stomach growling for bacon and eggs.

_Opening the fridge, Dean looked for…_

“Okay seriously, what the hell?”

Dean spun round behind him searching for the owner of the voice that seemed oddly interested in his breakfast activities. Walking away from the fridge Dean carefully checked behind the counter, under the table and down the corridor, all to no avail.

“Weird”

He shook his head and slouched back over to the fridge, running his hand over his now loudly grumbling stomach.

_Dean looked for his regular breakfast of bacon and eggs, carefully counting the beer bottles at the back of the fridge to make sure he hadn’t drunk more than he planned to the night before…_

Dean slammed the fridge door shut violently.

“Okay, what the freaking hell is goin’ on! And how the fuck do you know I’m counting beer bottles?”

His words echoed in the empty space of the kitchen.

“Sam if this is you, I swear to all things holy…”

Dean looked around expectantly and still nothing appeared to explain the voice he was hearing. He went through a mental checklist of all the things he thought it could be. A demon screwing with him, but the bunker was warded against those; a ghost, but he and Sam would have noticed by now if a ghost was in the bunker with them; a trickster, but Gabriel was long dead and as far as he knew there were no others.

No, as far as Dean was aware no supernatural being could be creating the voice he was hearing.

Yet, the weirdest part of it all (despite the voice in his head narrating his every move) was that it sounded as though it belonged to a sixteen year old girl. And if it wasn’t a monster making the voice, then he really didn’t want to get into the internal psychology of hearing the voice of a teenage girl narrating his life.

He opened the fridge again.

_While preparing breakfast, on most occasions, seemed like a small and innocuous task, it was the mundanities of Dean’s life that would lead to its radical shift._

Dean gritted his teeth through the strange narration while he began to fry his regular three strips of bacon.

_Watching the bacon sizzle slowly on the pan, Dean was sure that this Wednesday would be like all the others he had before, and was therefore unsurprised when Sam walked into the kitchen at exactly 8:15am, like he always did._

Dean whipped around violently to see Sam freeze in the doorway, his long hair still dishevelled from sleep.

Sam started back confused, “Dude what’s up with you?”

Sam looked at Dean questioningly, which was fair enough as Dean was at this point frozen in a karate like pose, spatula raised oddly above his head.

Dean slowly lowered the spatula back down to the pan, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. “Nothing man, just slept funny.”

“Okay”, Sam shrugged warily, keeping an eye on Dean as he walked over to the fridge.

Dean turned back to the pan.

_Sam’s appearance however was of little import to Dean, as at this point all he could think about was his bacon…_

“Dude, did you hear that?”

Dean looked over at Sam expectantly. Sam pulled back from the fridge, his tub of natural yogurt in hand as he looked over at Dean questioningly. “Hear what?”

“That, the voice thing.”

Dean gestured vaguely over his head with the spatula.

Sam just looked confused, “Dude, you’re not making any sense.”

Dean grunted frustratedly before turning back once again to the bacon, serving it onto his plate.

_All he could think about was his bacon as it hit his plate with a satisfying scrape…_

“Okay, seriously dude, you didn’t just hear the voice saying “all he could think about was his bacon”?”

Sam, who was sitting at the table by this point, looked over at Dean like he’d grown a second head. “Man, you’ve got bacon right there.”

Dean threw his head back in frustration before looking back at Sam, “Not the bacon, the voice, the “all he could think about was his bacon”.”

“Dean, you already have bacon.”

Sam looked at Dean condescendingly while he said this, punctuating each word as though he feared Dean didn’t understand what he was saying.

“I know I have bacon!” Dean snapped at Sam, his voice breaking oddly from the earnestness of his statement.

Sam flinched backwards, his looked of exasperation morphing into genuine concern, “Are you sure you’re okay Dean?”

Dean stepped back, the look on Sam’s face making him realise that Sam would probably take all too seriously the fact that Dean was hearing voices. He decided to keep the information to himself for a little while longer.

“Yeah man, I think I’m still just half-asleep. I’ll feel better once I’ve had my breakfast.”

_As Dean sat down to eat, his thoughts wandered to Baby and the work he planned to do on her that afternoon. The crushing inevitability of this fateful Wednesday had not yet hit him. Indeed, Dean was still thinking about his Baby when his best friend and ex-angel of the lord Cas walked into the kitchen also seeking breakfast. As their eyes locked over the table Dean felt no particular excitement over Cas’ presence, and was in fact, far more interested in his bacon. Little did Dean know that this was the day he would fall in love with his best friend…_

Dean inhaled the piece of bacon he was chewing.

Coughing violently and pounding himself on the chest Dean’s brain seemed to have short-circuited trying to process the piece of information he just heard. This shock and confusion was not helped by the fact that Cas, still only half way to the fridge, had run over and started pounding Dean hard on the back, his look of intense concern mere inches away from Dean’s face.

“Dean… Dean are you okay?”

Cas questioned Dean earnestly as his coughing began to subside, his face still pressed far too close for Dean’s comfort.

Dean looked up at Cas, his regular gruff persona taking over, “Yeah, I’m fine man, just… personal space.”

Dean made a shooing motion with his hand, Cas taking the hint and moving back several inches, but still much closer than most social conventions dictated. “Chewing is usually mandatory when consuming food” he said un-helpfully.

“Thanks Cas, I’ll take that on board,” Dean’s sarcastic tone went completely missed by the blissfully ignorant ex-angel.

“I would appreciate that Dean.”

Cas once more moved towards the fridge. Dean’s eyes followed him for a few steps before looking exasperatedly at Sam. Sam simply glared back with one of his best bitch-faces, as if to say “you could have at least thanked him.”

Dean shrugged his shoulders and went back to his meal, doing his best not to think about the statement that had started the whole kerfuffle.

_Dean Winchester’s life had never really turned out the way he expected it. From the murder of his mother by a yellow-eyed demon at the age of four; to the tumultuous life on the road hunting monsters with his dad; going to hell; freeing Lucifer; and the hundreds of other strange and terrifying events in his life, it was safe to say Dean had come to expect the unexpected. What he had neglected to factor into this mantra, was how remarkably cute his best friend looked while he glowered confusedly at the toaster._

Dean let out an agonised groan, slumping down to rest his head on the table with a resounding _thunk_.

This was going to be a long day.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thanks to all the people who have already left Kudos, you guys make my little heart sing.  
> Sorry for another short chapter.  
> Hopefully I'll get some longer ones in for you as the story progresses.

_The life of a hunter, whether you liked it or not, was an inexorably lonely one. Dean Winchester had long made his peace with this fact. If you were in the business, that was it. All personal ties were cut, save those of the people you hunted with, and you hit the road to help wherever you could. That was Dean Winchester’s life. Or it had been, until he met Cas._

_Cas, much to Dean’s shock and confusion, had managed to become an integral part of Dean’s life. Quite when this happened, Dean was unsure, but it was the truth. This ex-angel, this once cosmic and awe-striking being, had managed to make himself into Dean’s best friend, without Dean even realising it was happening. And if you asked Dean about it, he’d tell you he couldn’t really imagine it any other way._

_It was not so far of a stretch then, to see how Dean found himself falling in love with him…_

Dean banged his head against the back of the couch, and once more seriously considered throwing his book on seventeenth century exorcism across the room. He’d been listening to this crap in his head for three hours straight now, and he was fed up. It wasn’t even that well written!

He groaned, running a hand through his hair, and looked over at Sam. Sam, who was seated at the library table, nose deep in some seriously musty looking documents, carried on blissfully unaware of the torment Dean was suffering. Dean had long since realised that whatever this phenomena was, it was only affecting him.

_Dean, feeling bored, and oddly bereft of Cas’ presence, stood up off the couch he had been lounging on and went to seek out the fallen angel. As Dean walked toward Cas’ room his body began reacting to Cas in a way it never had before. His belly filled with butterflies; his hands became clammy; and his face started heating up at the thought of his friend lounging on his bed, his piercing blue eyes gazing up at Dean from his comfor…_

“Would you just SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

Dean’s yell echoed down the hallway, bouncing off the walls around him and snapping him back to reality. Dean was yelling at a voice. In his head. A voice he wasn’t even sure was real. A voice that was convinced he was hankering to have a gay dalliance with his best friend.

Dean took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. Yep. He was going insane.

“Dean are you alright?”

Cas’ head poked out the doorway in front of him, his piercing blue eyes boring into Dean, a concerned look on his face.

Dean did a double take, since when did he think about Cas’ “piercing blue eyes”… Oh wait, now he remembered why.

“I’m fine Cas, just been cooped up inside too long. I think I’ll take a walk.’

Cas’ eyes continued to follow Dean as he walked down the corridor, “Be careful.”

Dean shook his head, what the hell did Cas think was gonna happen to Dean in the hour he’d be away from the bunker.

_As Dean walked away from Cas his mind wandered to the many memories he’d shared with his best friend. Now, at first glance, Dean and Cas made a very odd couple. One a gruff and world-weathered hunter who enjoyed womanising and had a slightly concerning addiction to Dr Sexy M.D., the other a socially awkward, centuries old angel of the lord who knew nothing about pop culture and still had his promise ring (if you know what I mean). And yet here they were, crossing each other’s paths and more often than not, saving each other’s lives._

Dean kicked open the door to the bunker with a lot more force than was really necessary. This voice, or whatever it was, was getting out of hand.

_The cold nip of fresh air did nothing to settle Dean’s uneasiness. His mind was still occupied by the way Cas had looked in the corridor; Raven hair still mussed from sleep; his borrowed pyjama pants sitting low on his waist; those piercing blue eyes seeing straight into Dean’s soul…_

“Would you, get, the fuck, out of, my, HEAD!”

Dean screamed into the surrounding wooded area, punctuating every word with a kick or swing into the thin air, as if he could somehow manage to make contact with the invisible source of the voice, and therefore stop it’s narration.

“Dean… I think you should come inside.”

Dean swung round violently, breathing hard, to see Cas standing in the doorway, the look of concern (that Dean was getting mighty sick of at this point) painted across his features. Dean’s shoulders sagged heavily as he slouched towards the door muttering to himself.

“Great, it had to be you didn’t it. It’s this whole freaking Wednesday, worst day ever.”

_As Dean crossed past Cas, the alluring scent of…_

“And don’t you start!” Dean snapped at the air as he walked past Cas.

Cas' frown only turned more intense at this outburst, and Dean swore if Cas didn’t change his expression soon he was gonna punch the angel in the face, supposed romantic feelings or no.

“I think we should go see Sam.”

Dean could hear the condescension in Cas’ voice, like he could see the crazy rolling off Dean in waves. And while Dean was pretty sure he was going crazy, it pissed him off to no-end that Cas could see it.

_As Dean crossed past Cas, the alluring scent of cinnamon and something else undefinable, but that he found himself instinctively relating to the angel, drew him in. He stepped closer, his better judgement clouded by the intoxication of his senses…_

Dean sprung back horrified from where he’d been standing, mere inches away from Cas’ face. Cas looked on, confused now rather than concerned. Well at least Dean had got that to change.

“Yeah, let’s go see Sam.”

Dean’s voice shook as Cas walked past him down the corridor. And now that the voice mentioned it, Cas did smell like cinnamon and something else indefinable, the scent hitting Dean’s nose as Cas brushed past. Dean coughed, in what he hoped was a manly fashion, before smoothing back his hair and taking a few well-measured deep breaths. If he ever found the owner of this voice, they’d better be ready to run and hide, because in true Liam Neeson style, Dean would find them, and he would kill them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a bit of a longer one for you.  
> Hope you enjoy :)

“Voices.”

The look of concern on Sam’s features was getting almost as annoying as Cas’.

“Voices, Dean, seriously! And you didn’t think to tell anyone.”

Sam’s tone of worry was fast morphing into one of his lectures, and Dean didn’t think he could put up with _two_ incessantly annoying voices yammering away at him non-stop.

“Skip the lecture Sammy, just tell me how to fix it!”

Dean, Cas and Sam were all sat round one of the tables in the library, though to Dean it felt more like an interrogation room, with Cas and Sam leaning over him, asking non-stop questions. The only thing breaking the illusion was that Cas was still wearing his pyjama’s, his very low sitting pyjama’s.

Dean groaned loudly and banged his head on the table, he was really sick of noticing these kind of things about his best friend. This narrator chick, whoever she was, was dead.

“Look Dean, I know it must be annoying…”

“Annoying Sammy!” Dean’s head shot up off the table, “Man this went way past annoying three hours ago!”

Sam frowned at the deathly glower Dean was sending him, and opened his mouth for what Dean knew would be the beginning of a trademark Sammy Winchester lecture.

“Look Dean, I know you’re frustrated, but you can’t expect us to find out you’re hearing voices and not be concerned by it. And how long would you have waited to tell us if Cas hadn’t forced it out of you…”

_Dean sat and let Sam’s frustrated tones wash over him like waves, his mind wandering. He didn’t understand why Sam was so concerned, as the more Dean thought about it, the less strange the feelings he was having for Cas became._

Dean began rhythmically banging his head against the table-top.

_From the moment Cas entered Dean’s life, claiming to have ‘gripped him tight and raised him from perdition’, Dean knew there was something connecting them, something more profound than just regular friendship. In fact, looking back, all the clues seemed to lay themselves out before him. The lingering glances; the two of them too often straying just a little too close to each other in conversation; and the many unspoken confessions, hidden behind platitudes like ‘hello, Dean’, ‘Be careful’ and more seriously, ‘I need you’._

“Dean!!”

Sam’s sharp yell pierced through the seemingly endless torrent of narration, that was beginning to sound more and more like a bad harlequin novel every second.

“Wha…?”

Dean looked up, his head still ringing from its rendezvous with the table. The two Sam’s now sitting across from him rocked and swayed for a few seconds before blurring back into one.

“Are the voices really that bad?”

This time it was Cas that spoke, his worried gaze filling Dean with guilt over the thoughts that were going on in his head. Well, they weren’t really his thoughts, more the deluded ramblings of a teenage girl somehow stuck in his head, but still, the shame was real.

It was this, more than anything, which made Dean ultimately confess, “It’s only one voice.”

“What’s it saying?”

This time it was Sam that spoke, his tone turned more intrigued than concerned now.

Dean flinched, shifted in his chair and sucked in a deep breath, before confessing. “It’s narrating.”

…

“Narrating?”

Sam parroted the word back at Dean, a look of utter confusion clouding his features. Dean grimaced and turned to Cas, but the angel offered little comfort, looking just as perplexed as Sam.

“What’s it narrating?”

Sam’s voice brought Dean’s attention back to the matter at hand.

“The super bowl… What do you think, Sammy? My life!”

Dean tried to stem his torrent of frustration there, but he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck bristling with all the pent up anger and frustration of the morning.

“Dean…”

Sam tried to cut in, but Dean was only just getting started.

“It’s getting out of control Sam! I mean this chick knows everything about my life. She pretty much knows what I’m gonna say before I say it. It’s fucking creepy!”

“She?”

The word jammed Dean out of his tirade, he flinched internally as he realised what he had unwittingly confessed.

“Yeah…” Dean coughed awkwardly, trying to forestall his humiliation as long as possible, “The um, voice thing, it um… it sounds like a teenage girl man.”

Cas at least had the decency to break eye contact with Dean upon hearing the information, making the situation at least somewhat less awkward. Sam, however, had no problem staring Dean down across the table, his gaze boring into Dean and hiking up the discomfort between them to near unbearable levels.

“Let me get this straight. You’re hearing the voice of a _teenage girl_ narrating your life as it happens, and you didn’t think to tell anyone?”

The simultaneous look of incredulity and frustration on Sam’s face would have been comical, were it not for the disaster of a morning Dean had been having.

“I’ve told you now haven’t I Sammy!”

Dean snapped at Sam across the table, returning Sam’s probing look with a death glare of his own. Sam, however, would not be intimidated.

_Fighting with his brother was not an uncommon event in the life of Dean Winchester. From when they were very young, up until the current day the boys had never quite been able to see eye to eye on the bigger issues. While getting along well enough day to day, when trouble or intrigue entered their life you could always be sure that Sam and Dean would disagree on how to deal with it. Some would argue it was because they were siblings, and were naturally prone to disagree. Others would argue it was the continuing ploy for attention by each brother to a long lost father. The real cause, or at least in this authors mind, was in the way the boys each viewed the world._

“That’s not good enough anymore Dean. After all we’ve been through I thought we were done keeping things like this from each other!”

_For Dean, the world simply was. The good, the bad and the ugly all thrown together with no divine purpose or destiny. And for Dean, realist that he was, the only way through was to deal with what was right in front of him, no matter how strange or unbelievable it may be._

“You know what Sammy, maybe I was a bit more than mildly uncomfortable at having a voice yammering away in my head. Maybe it scared the shit out of me and I didn’t know how to approach my brother to tell him that I thought I was going bat crap crazy!”

_For Sam however, the world was more complex than this. If something happened, it happened for a reason. Destiny existed and it called to everyone. It was this belief that caused Sam to question, to delve and to always strive for a better way. If for Dean the world was black and white, then for Sam it was shades of grey._

“Then talk to me Dean! Let me help you.”

_Dean sat looking at Sam, once more playing out the fight they seemed to always end up at, and he was suddenly struck with weariness. Without even a conscious thought he reached out and took Cas’ hand, clinging on tightly, his lifeline against his brothers stubborn torrent._

“All I wanna do is…”

Dean’s brow furrowed as Sam fell suddenly silent. If there was anything more disconcerting than having all six-foot four-inches of Sam Winchester yelling at you, it was having him stop suddenly half way through.

Dean looked over at Cas for some help, but Cas was transfixed by something on the table and refused to make eye contact with him.

Dean looked back over at Sam, but that was less helpful than before, as now Sam was staring at him like Dean had suddenly sprouted purple tentacles from his nostrils. He gave his nose a surreptitious wipe just to make sure.

“Why the hell are you staring at me like that Sam?”

Sam just looked even more confused (if that was possible at this point). “Your hand, Dean.”

Well if that wasn’t ambiguous enough. Although, now that Dean thought about it, his left hand did feel kind-of warm, and clammy, and heavier than usual. He looked down, horrified, to see his fingers entwined with Cas’, gripping tightly. Cas was sat across from him, looking at their joined hands like they were a puzzle to which he hadn’t quite found the answer yet.

“Oh for fucks sake!!”

Dean ripped his hand out of Cas’, and just to be safe shoved both his hands under his legs. Cas continued looking at where their hands had been for a few more moments before looking up at Dean with confusion in his eyes. “I do not understand.”

“Yeah Dean,” Sam chipped in, beginning to look thoroughly fed-up with the whole situation, “Care to fill in the rest of the class.”

If Dean had felt uncomfortable earlier in the conversation, it was nothing compared to what he was experiencing now. He could feel his face getting redder and redder by the second and he suddenly found the patch of carpet at his feel a lot more interesting than it was thirty seconds ago.

_If asked to describe the situation, Dean would have said he felt like a young child in the teacher’s office, being forced to confess something they did wrong in front of their parents. Or at least, he imagined that was similar to what he was feeling. Dean had never been around a school long enough to actually experience it for himself._

_Thus, under such abject scrutiny from his brother and friend, Dean began to feel uncomfortably exposed now he was no longer gripping Cas’…_

“Alright, if it’ll get you to shut the hell up!”

Sam looked surprised by Dean’s outburst. “We didn’t say anything.”

“Not you… Her.” Dean grunted, tapping his skull.

Sam just nodded awkwardly, the look on his face giving voice to just how bat shit crazy Dean was feeling. Dean dropped his head into his hands and took a few deep breaths, before looking back up and running his hands through his hair.   

“You seen _Stranger Than Fiction_?”

“Dean, stop changing the topic.”

Sam glared Dean down with a bitch-face to rival all his previous.

“Just hear me out Sammy. In the film, the guy, there’s a narrator in his head, and it keeps telling him he’s gonna die.”

Understanding began to dawn across Sam’s face, picking up on Deans less than fluent reference. Cas, however, still looked perplexed.

“Are you saying the voice in your head thinks you are destined to die?”

Dean wriggled uncomfortably, and found it impossible to make eye contact with Cas as he relinquished his last secret.

“No, not die… It, the voice, it thinks… it wants me to…” Dean sunk down as far as he could in his chair and focused intently on a stray splinter of wood at the edge of the table, “fall in love with Cas.”

This last was mumbled, and both Sam and Cas leant forward an inch.

“Sorry what?”

“Dammit Sam! She wants me to fall in love with Cas! She keeps pointing out his piercing eyes and his freakin’ pyjamas, and she keeps making me wanna smell him and hold hands. It’s fucking disturbing… No offence Cas.”

Sam was, for the first time that day, at a complete loss for words, simply gaping at Dean like a guppy. Cas however, felt no such compunction regarding the information he had just heard.

“Why should I be offended Dean. I too find the idea of such intimacies with you disturbing.”

Cas wore a look of solemn self-satisfaction, as if he had single-handedly managed to quell all of Dean’s misgivings with this one insight. He hadn’t.

“Gee thanks Cas, you really know how to make a guy feel special.’

Dean may have not wanted to be falling in love with Cas, but still, words hurt. Cas did not, however, miss the sarcasm in Dean’s tone this time, his satisfaction turning into an unamused frown that disturbed Dean on a completely different level.

It was at this point that Sam broke his silence, breaking down into a fit of near-hysterical laughter.

“Sam!”

Dean turned from Cas to snap at Sam, it however made no effect to the hyena like sounds his brother was making from the other side of the table.

“Sammy!”

Dean glared Sam down from across the table, seconds away from leaping over it and throttling him. Sam, however, was in no position to care.  

“Sam, would you cut it the fuck out!”

This time, Dean seemed to get through, Sam’s laughs slowly fizzling down into soft wheezes, “I’m sorry man, but it’s kinda hilarious. You’ve got a teenage girl narrating your life, trying to get you to fall in love with Cas. Sucky as it is for you, you gotta admit it’s funny.”

_Dean had been laughed at many times in his life. Indeed, we would be here for a lot longer than any of us would wish, if I were to write down all the occasions in which Dean had been made a fool of. That didn’t mean it got any easier._

_It was at times like these that Dean wished Baby was a person. She would never have stood for the kind of emotional abuse he received from Sam in the form of ridicule. Baby was the one thing in his life Dean could depend on to always take his side._

_However Baby was not a person, and nor would she ever be. So Dean would have to make do with the next best thing. Cas. His best/maybe-my-feelings-for-you-aren’t-quite-as-platonic-as-I-thought friend. Standing up, Dean pulled Cas into an iron-tight shoulder hug, glaring at him as if to say “if you don’t back me up in this, I will kill you.”_

_Cas just stared back intensely, his fierce blue eyes widening at Deans sudden proximity…_

“Goddamit!”

Dean growled in frustration at the situation he once again found himself in. Sam took one look and doubled back over with laughter.

“It’s not funny Sam!”

Cas had now turned to Sam as well, his trademark look of disapproval directed at the younger Winchester for a change. Dean had to admit, it felt nice not to be on the receiving end for once.

“Dean is right Sam, this is indeed, not funny.”

This did nothing to help, as Sam’s laughter only doubled when, upon trying to retract his arm from around Cas’ shoulders, Dean found himself stuck.

“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me!!”

Dean spat angrily at his arm, as if yelling would somehow entice it to move. It didn’t work. When Dean found whoever was responsible for this, he wasn’t just gonna kill them, he was gonna cut them into tiny chunks and feed them to the nearest wendigo.

Cas turned to Dean with a strange look on his face, his facial features scrunched up in a very bad attempt to look reassuring.

“I’m sure this is only temporary.”

The poorly hidden uncertainty in Cas’ voice did nothing to inspire Dean’s confidence.

“Sammy, would you stop laughing and fix this!... please.”


End file.
